Obliviate
by Surroundedbutalone
Summary: Harry should have known; Voldemort always have a back-up plan. Contains slash, mpreg and character death
1. The beginning

**Hey guys, sorry for the long gap between stories, I just haven't been in the headspace to write for the last few months. I have not abandoned any of my fics; I swear. Saying that, this story was sparked by a 28 hour Harry Potter Marathon and is dedicated to Ryudoi Ai, who made such a beautiful piece of artwork based on one of my stories. The piece can be found here (remove the spaces):**

** : / akatsutsumiayayuki. deviantart art/The-Shattered-Ones-ficart-369763929**

**Without further delay, I give you 'Obliviate'. Don't own, don't sue. **

**The Beginning**

He should have realised, really.

He should have suspected something.

He should have been vigilant; constantly vigilant.

Voldemort always had a backup plan.

The man once split his soul into seven pieces.

Harry should have known he wouldn't leave anything to chance.

It happened in the Department of Mysteries, but he never thought, never realised.

Harry should have known.

The pain was intense; Voldemort inside of him. Every molecule of his body twisted and bucked, his mind filled with memories and thoughts that chipped at his very humanity when he could no longer identify where Tom Riddle stopped and Harry Potter began.

He played them, really.

Made them think he was doing it for safety.

Made them think he was proving a point, goading Dumbledore for death with Harry's stolen lips.

Voldemort always had a backup plan, and when Harry's stomach burned, when he felt like the man inside him was twirling a blade to make him scream, Harry didn't think anything of it.

Later Madame Pomfrey told him the possession left no lasting damage.

Harry should have known.

Voldemort always had a backup plan.

* * *

No one had touched his body after the battle; just used their wands to float him away from what had become of their friends and family. Harry watched the people mill around, lost now they had won, and felt the same emptiness inside.

Harry never thought he would survive the war; not really.

He watched from the stairs as the Weaslys clung to one another, and he wanted that. He wanted the touch, the warmth of living bodies.

Instead he walked around the crumbled stone and smears of red, into the small room where Tom Riddle's body lay.

He didn't look peaceful, not like the peace Harry imagined when thinking about the bodies of those who died to protect him.

He just looked dead.

There was a scrape of feet by the door, but Harry didn't turn to look; didn't look away from the pale waxy face of the man he had killed. The man who was so similar to him that he marked him as an equal. The man that, in many ways, was the last family member Harry had.

Harry reached out to touch his face in a rush of pity and felt the cool smoothness of lifeless flesh.

Then he screamed.

The pain was so intense that he was out before Malfoy had a chance to yell.

They fussed; all of them. They blamed Malfoy at first, but Harry stopped them. Madame Pomfrey could find no curse or damage, and Harry made her treat those who were actually injured rather than hover over him.

They said it was stress; the day catching up with him. Harry let himself believe it.

Malfoy didn't.

* * *

Grimmauld place was cleaner than he remembered, and Creature allowed him his space.

Hermione said it wasn't healthy, but with the wards up she was easy to ignore.

It was always easier to ignore.

Harry found himself lost in memories of the past more often than not; sometimes allowing a day or two to pass without notice. He didn't sleep much; not with the nightmares.

Creature forced him to eat, but he threw it up more often than not.

Harry saw the worried looks, and avoided the elf, guilty he had made him worry.

He walked the halls of the old house, and caught a whiff of something that took him back to being fourteen and at the world cup, helpless and scared in the woods while people around him burned.

Creature found him in the corner crying and wrung his long fingers.

Harry should have known.

He nibbled on dried toast, a copy of his old transfiguration book in hand, as Draco Malfoy stepped out of his fire.

He wasn't surprised, really.

Out of all the people Creature would betray his master's orders for, a pureblood and a Black would really be his first choice.

"You look awful, Potter," was all the blonde said.

His hair hung limp and his pale face had taken on a grey tinge; his robes hanging slightly from his thinner frame.

Harry had spoken at the Malfoy trial and had helped them avoid Azkaban, but could do very little about public opinion.

"You don't look so good yourself, Malfoy." His voice was hoarse from disuse, and it took a moment to remember the words.

Malfoy noticed his cautious sentence, but said nothing. Instead, he pulled out a board of wizard chess and began to set it up on the table between them.

"I was never good at chess," Harry said, because if Malfoy wasn't going to mention Creature going to him for help then Harry wasn't either.

"Scared Potter?" He asked, one elegant eyebrow adding to the lines on his face that hadn't been there last time he saw him.

"You wish," Harry replied, and moved his first pawn.

It became a regular thing after that, Malfoy visiting him. Sometimes they played chess or snap. Sometimes they glamoured themselves and walked to the local park. Sometimes they talked; most times they didn't. It was nice, having someone around who understood.

He loved Hermione dearly, but she was always trying to fix him. The Weaslys just wanted to pretend to war never happened.

Neville and Luna understood, to a point. They fire called sometimes.

The first time Draco came with him to visit Teddy, Harry buzzed with nerves. He held the small boy who grinned and babbled while Draco talked to him with his usual quiet drawl. Teddy laughed and changed his eyes to Harry's emerald green and his hair to a silvery blonde, and something changed in Draco's face; something soft and wild and not altogether different from how he looked at Harry most days. It made Harry feel nervous, like there wasn't enough air in the room.

When the left Andromeda didn't hug Malfoy like she did Harry, but her smile was warm.

* * *

Hermione hugged him tightly at platform 9 ¾ and Harry ignored the roll of his stomach in favour of lifting her slightly from the ground. There were tears in her eyes when he let go, and Ron's face was tight as he clapped him on the shoulder.

"Didn't think you were coming," he said gruffly, and Harry nodded, not wanting to tell them how long he stared at the letter marked with the Hogwarts seal before his hands would stop shaking enough to open it.

"I think it will be nice," he said instead. "A year without anything. Just being normal for once."

Hermione's lip wobbled threateningly and Ron's face darkened. Draco watched from a nearby pillar.

He was always watching.

Harry caught his eye and they exchanged a nod, slow and cautious, before the others bustled him onto the train.

* * *

Hogwarts was different. They had spent sometime after the battle putting the castle back together, but there were still walls that looked ready to crumble and bloodstains on the floor. It didn't look nearly as safe as it did when he first saw it, and knew by Neville's nervous twitching and Ron's white knuckled grip on his robes that he wasn't the only one who still saw bodies on the ground.

The eighth years, as they had been dubbed, were given small rooms on the third floor, where Dumbledore once kept a three-headed dog. Harry laughed when he saw it, but no one else did. He knew some of them thought he was mad. Sometimes he agreed with them.

With so few of them returning, no more than thirty, the staff didn't bother separating them into houses. No one complained about it and Harry couldn't help but think of the fight this would have gotten before the war. Instead the group drifted silently to their own amusements, more like the castle ghosts than the people they used to be.

Harry noticed McGonagall's worried gaze, but avoided her.

* * *

Class was normal, for once.

They caught up on what they had missed while their families fought and died, helping the teachers fix the castle between classes.

Harry had always screamed in his sleep. The Gryffindor boys had grown used to it over the years, but it frightened the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs to no end. The first time Harry had woken to a pale and terrified Draco shaking him awake, his breath cooling his sweat-soaked forehead. Harry looked around at the faces peering through the dark and knew had had dreamed of Voldemort again.

Harry threw up on the floor.

* * *

Classes were normal, and there was no plot to kill Harry and there was no one he had to save. It was nice. He played Quidditch with Ron on the weekends and studied with Hermione on the weekdays and played chess with Draco when he was free. His friends, who might have said something about it before the war, were silent on the matter.

Sometimes they treated him like glass, and it made him angry, made his magic lash out and crack the wards the teachers tried so hard to repair. Sometimes they treated him like a bomb about to go off, and it broke him.

They were in Charms when it happened. Glass goblets were handed out and Flitwick bounced about the front of the classroom, waving his wand expertly, but Harry couldn't hear him. Instead of glass, he saw wrought gold with a badger engraved on the side. He heard the rattling of Voldemort's soul, the screaming of a tiny evil voice, felt the burning metal press him from all sides. His stomach twisted, and then the glass goblets shattered as one, the air filled with tiny shards of glass that spun and whirled in a cloud of pain.

Students ducked under tables as the glass fell and Harry panted, robes clinging to his sweat-soaked skin.

"Well," said Flitwick. "That wasn't exactly what I had in mind…"

All eyes were on Harry and he shook, his stomach rolling, avoiding the eyes of Hermione and Ron and especially Draco, who had made sure he ate that morning.

"Mr Potter?" asked the professor, and then Harry lunged forward and vomited all over his shoes.

* * *

Neville was the one who took him to the hospital wing, but Draco was only a minute behind him. The two boys stared at each other, as if sizing the other up, before Neville glanced at Harry and nodded.

"Take care of him," was all he said, giving Harry's hand a squeeze as he left the room.

Draco didn't go to Harry's bed, but he wasn't far from it. Their eyes met, and Harry was the first to look away.

Madame Pomfrey bustled over before either could speak.

"Potter, I can't say I didn't expect to see you here this year; I only hoped it would be further into the term."

Harry said nothing but leant back, allowing his body to relax and his mind drift. Pomfrey huffed at Harry's unique show of consent and began her diagnostic spells, Draco hovering not far behind.

Her gasp made Harry look up and the other boy start. She glanced at Draco, disbelieving, then met Harry's eyes.

"Potter, you should have come to me sooner dear boy! Running around the castle in your condition, it isn't healthy!"

"What condition?" Harry thought maybe he should put more emotion into his voice, but didn't have the energy.

Madame Pomfrey looked more shocked.

"Potter, you are pregnant!"

Harry laughed this time, and felt disorientated at how brittle it sounded.

He couldn't remember the last time he laughed.

"Good one; I'm a bloke, I can't get…you know."

Madame Pomfrey did a few more spells, muttering to herself about irresponsible teachers and ignorant muggles, and Draco looked a little betrayed.

Harry didn't know why; it wasn't his fault Pomfrey's spells were wrong.

"Potter, wizards in the magical world are more than capable of conceiving. Mr Malfoy should have informed you of this before giving you the appropriate potions and taking advantage of you."

It was Harry's turn to look betrayed, but Draco shook his head, raising his hands slightly in defence.

"I swear Potter, I did no such thing. I swear. I _swear."_

"Well, I've never been shagged by anyone so forgive me for not believing you."

Pomfrey frowned and cast more spells, nodding slowly as different colours appeared above Harry's stomach.

"This pregnancy is magical; it appears you grew a womb naturally and the genetic material of the other father was passed on through a spell. I should call the headmistress-"

"Who is the other father? Can you tell?"

"Well, yes, but I would prefer if we sent for the headmistress first-"

"Tell me. Please. I need…I need to know who did this to me."

He was feeling dizzy again, and he could hear the windows of the hospital wing begin to crack with the pressure.

Pomfrey cast several more spells and a smoke cloud appeared.

"You conceived five months ago, which would be around the time of the Battle of Hogwarts. It is possible you were hit with a stray spell…"

The smoke took form, gathering as Harry had seen in his second year, written by the echo of a memory. Harry thought for a minute he was in a flash back again, but the choked gasp of Pomfrey and the sudden clasp of Draco's hand in his own proved that he was still there, that it was all really happening.

The smoke before them spelled out the simple name: 'Tom Marvolo Riddle.'

* * *

Harry felt the room spinning even as Draco waved away the smoke, breaking apart the name as if it was never there.

But it was.

Pomfrey's face had gone a pale white and her wand hand shook.

"That can't be. Potter…Harry…please tell me that you didn't, that he didn't-"

"No, never!"

She drew in a deep breath and stepped away from his as if his touch would burn. Her eyes drifted outside and stayed there.

"In ancient times, when arguments between wizards were settled by duels to the death, pureblood families created a spell that insured their line would carry on. In the likelihood that one would die, the wizard cast a spell on himself that would pass his genetic material onto the first person who touched his body. As it was tradition for the victor to close the eyes of the fallen, the winner of the duel would be left pregnant. The spells have been banned for centuries for obvious reasons, but…"

But something being illegal or banned never stopped Lord Voldemort.

Harry remembered the burning in his stomach at the end of fifth year that left painful twinges for months. He remember the shock of magic and agony when he touched Voldemort's corpse.

He always had a back-up plan.

Harry should have known.

Pomfrey was talking again, but Harry had missed most of it.

"The foetus is protected by the spell, but I may be able to find a potion to get rid of it. You will be fine, Mr Potter. Trust me."

She didn't look at him at all, and he saw how her lip curled at the word 'foetus'.

A foetus.

A baby?

A thing in his stomach that was part Voldemort.

But it was also part his mum and his dad.

It was part of him too.

Harry didn't realise he was crying until he felt Draco wipe the tears away. The blonde said nothing, but Harry preferred it that way.

"I just wanted one year," he rasped, no longer caring how broken he sounded.

"One year to be normal, to be a teenager. One year where nothing happened to me. That's why I came back to Hogwarts. One last year before I had to go and face the world again. I'm never going to get that though, am I? I'm never going to be normal; and neither will the baby. It's bad enough that any kid I had would have to live with being the child of the boy who lived. But this…this is worse. People will judge it and want to hurt it for something it had no control over. It will never be able to live a real life. I just wanted one year; but I don't deserve it."

Hermione and Ron chose that moment to rush in and hurry to Harry's side, shooting nasty glances at the youngest Malfoy as they hushed away Harry's tears. Draco allowed himself to be elbowed aside, to drift into the background as Harry curled into a ball and wept silently.

Draco couldn't handle that silence.

Not when those emerald eyes were screaming so loudly it was choking him.

Draco made his way to the medi-witch, watching as her quill flew across the parchment so fast the ink splattered and ran. She turned when she noticed him, but his wand arm was faster, raised before she even knew he was there.

Draco thought of the baby and of loyalty and of his life debt to the Potter boy.

Mostly he just thought of the look in Harry's eyes.

"Obliviate."


	2. The middle

**The middle**

Harry was six months along before he began to balloon up, and no one but Draco saw it. He wore loose clothing, even baggier than when he was scrawny first year, and glamour's when the bump showed stubbornly through.

"The glamour's fall when he kicks," Harry told him, placing Draco's palm on his bare stomach to feel the writhing life.

"It's almost impossible to keep up."

Draco thumbed the taut skin and felt Harry shiver beneath his hand.

"Then don't hide it; tell everyone about in on your terms before your cover is blown."

Draco didn't speak much, but Harry listened when he did.

"Alright."

* * *

Harry walked into the Great Hall at breakfast in robes that did nothing to hide his condition and walked to the front of the room where the staff table stood. He ignored how his palms sweated and his chest tightened, ignored how the clouds of the ceiling had become a deep grey. He felt like he was fourteen and the goblet had chosen his name all over again but he pushed the memory away.

It was only when he reached the dais that he realised how quiet the room was.

"Sonorous," he said, pointing his wand to his throat, and coughed awkwardly, wincing as the sound echoed off the walls.

"Hello, I'm Harry Potter," he started, feeling more than a little stupid. Some first years laughed at that, but were hushed quickly.

"I am giving an announcement, and it will be the first and only statement I will give on the matter. I want everyone to know it right, rather than hear the rumour from a friend of a friend. I'm pregnant."

A murmur started in the mass of students and continued through the staff, filling the room with hundreds of voices.

Someone had taken a quick-quotes-quill and many more had cameras. Harry's stomach rolled unpleasantly.

"I am six months along, and the child is healthy."

"Six months; so while we were dying at the Battle of Hogwarts, you were getting a good shag?"

Harry had never liked Zacharias Smith, and almost smiled when he saw Ginny Weasly aim her wand at the prat.

"I wasn't like that, but yeah. The baby was conceived on the day of the battle."

"Is the father Malfoy?" It was a Ravenclaw girl this time, small and plump, her voice carrying only curiosity.

Harry shook his head and felt his face tighten; the usual crash of emotions he felt when thinking about the battle filling his mind.

"The other father is dead; I will not state his allegiance or his name or even his house. I hope you will all respect my privacy enough to leave it at that."

Harry removed the spell and left the hall, listening to the whispers that followed.

The general assumption of the student body came later; that Harry was raped by a death eater and knocked up.

Even Ron and Hermione treated him gently for weeks afterwards, despite their anger from him hiding what was going on.

Harry didn't care what people thought; he had given his child a good start.

* * *

The bundle was a warm weight in his arms, and Harry couldn't help but count fingers and toes, couldn't help but run his fingers through jet-black hair and stare into green eyes, praying he would never see Voldemort looking back.

Draco touched his shoulder and Harry didn't react. When he left Hogwarts to have the baby, Draco had packed his bags and went with him. Even as he settled the child into the nursery, he never thought to question the blonde man claiming the room across the hall.

He was the only one who knew the truth, and Harry didn't want to scare him away by talking about it.

"James Sirius Potter," he said instead, not taking his eyes from his tiny son. "Do you think they'd hate me, for naming his son after them?"

Draco's hand tightened slightly and the baby turned to him.

"I think they would be honoured, for you naming your son after them."

Harry hummed, and held the infant closer.

* * *

Andromeda died the year James turned three, and Harry signed the adoption papers for Teddy without a second thought.

He held the boy, whose hair changed from black to magenta as Harry stared up at Draco, daring him to say something.

"He belongs in the House of Black anyway; it's in his blood."

That night they drank fire whisky in the kitchen and Harry cried and Draco kissed him for the first time, hotter than any drink. They tumbled into bed together, a mess of clashing teeth and moans and warmth, and Harry thought that as long as Draco was holding him tightly and kissing him hotly he wouldn't fall apart.

A week later and he watched as the test turned a light pink, hiding the sinking of his heart with a smile as Draco's face lit up the small bathroom.

Their marriage was small and intimate, a few of Harry's friends and Draco's parents.

Ron still didn't approve but he shook their hands and Hermione smiled enough for both of them.

"I am so happy for you two," she beamed, and Harry tried to smile back but couldn't.

No matter how hard he tried, two facts still rolled about his mind like socks in a dryer.

Nothing was ever easy for Harry Potter.

Voldemort always has a back-up plan.

* * *

Draco walked out of the bedroom they shared to see Harry standing over the green-eyed toddler, his face smooth.

Draco didn't say anything, but Harry preferred him like that.

"Sometimes I think about the horcruxs and wonder if James isn't just one more. So many people said Tom Riddle and I looked alike, you know? He had black hair and green eyes, before he changed. So many people tell me how much James looks like me; but I wonder. Does he? Does he really take after me? Or does he take after him? It isn't normal for a parent to think this way, but I do. Every time I look at him, I can't help but wonder when I'll see Voldemort looking back."

"He looks like you, Scarhead."

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and looked at little Scorpius asleep in his bassinet, Teddy sprawled across his bed.

He raised his wand even as he stared into James's sleeping face and wondered at the innocence of the babe.

"Obliviate."


	3. The end

**The end**

Harry had been keeping something from him for weeks, but Draco couldn't guess what it was. Even Teddy had noticed.

"Uncle Dray, what's wrong with Dad?"

Despite the other boys calling Harry 'mum', Teddy had given his hero a more manly title.

Draco pushed the food around his plate and gave a noncommittal shrug, staring at the empty place where Harry should have been.

"Eat your dinner," he said instead, because he was pissed and wouldn't take it out on the kids.

Draco woke up to a cold bed and walked to the boys' room to see Harry standing over James. He smoothed the hair that refused to lie flat and tears shone from his eyes.

Draco stood at the door, unmoving, and Harry turned to meet his gaze. He opened his mouth several times but words seemed to fail him. Finally he found something.

"I love you."

Draco's breath caught in his throat, because after seven years of being married he had never heard Harry say the words.

"I love them. I love this life you've given me, because I never expected to live this long. I'm sorry."

Draco made to step forward but Harry pulled his wand and the blonde man felt the silence charm settle in the air.

"They've been sending me letters. I don't know how, but they know about James. They are going to tell the world unless I go to them tonight. They want him to be their messiah, their Boy Who Lived. I can't let that happen. I can't let them…I have to go."

Draco was shaking his head, tears streaming down his cheeks, and he wanted to scream, because this wasn't how their story was supposed to end. Harry kissed him, briefly, and Draco latched onto a thought.

"You _know_, even though I…"

"I always knew. It doesn't work on me; too close to the Imperious."

Draco could kick himself, or kick Harry, famous Harry fucking Potter with a scar on his face and an immunity to mind control.

"Take me with you. We can do this together."

"The kids need you."

"I need you."

Harry smiled again and kissed him, long and hard and full of teeth and longing and regret. Draco felt the wand point at his back but Harry was speaking before he had the chance to move.

"Stupefy."

* * *

Draco woke to a silent house and a nasty taste in his mouth.

The boys weren't in their beds.

He pulled himself up unsteadily and ran to the kitchen where three children huddled around a large newspaper.

The cover showed something that reminded Draco of a battlefield.

He snatched it from their collective hands, ignoring Teddy's shout of indignation and the sniffle from Scorpius.

The ministry of magic had been obliterated.

Hundreds of bodies had been found, all with connections to Voldemort or other dark arts supporters.

Harry Potter had been found dead in the midst, his hand still clutching his wand.

They made him out to be a hero, protecting the world from another rise of dark power, which Draco found hilarious, because time and time again Harry had saved them and received nothing but scorn and the one time he saves his own arse, protects his family from the very people he swore to help, the wizarding world sees his destruction as salvation.

The entire paper was dedicated to Harry's sacrifice; it said nothing of James' parentage. Draco looked up, feeling his neck prickle, and met the emerald eyes of Harry's firstborn. They were dry, unlike Scorpius's, and steady, unlike the disbelieving gaze of Teddy.

"They aren't lying, are they?" It was more of a statement than a question. Draco looked at the other papers on the table, Harry's will siting on the top with fresh ink naming Teddy the heir to House Black, James to House Potter and Scorpius to House Malfoy, with Draco as their guardian until they came of age.

Harry never thought ahead.

If he had taken the time to make out a will, then he wasn't coming back.

Draco shook his head, and Teddy began to weep.

James never did.

* * *

The platform was busy, people crowding where they had no right to and getting entirely in the way. Draco heaved his way through, the three trunks he pushed making it in no way easier, and breathed a sigh of relief as he caught sight of the train. Scorpius ran ahead, waving frantically at Albus Weasly in a way unbefitting of a Malfoy. Teddy strutted behind them, prefects badge glittering on his Gryffindor robes, while James stayed close, a hand stretched out to steady the cart, his own badge shining from the green and silver of Slytherin. Draco loaded the trunks into the train, running him hand over the cloth and wood of the carriage, remembering when a small scrap of a boy refused his hand on that very train. Draco got out quickly, not wanting to get lost in his memories.

He found Teddy and yanked him close by his collar, giving him the usual lecture about school work and girls and what was more important. Teddy fidgeted like a puppy held by the scruff and the older man gave up, letting him scamper off towards his delinquent friends and praying, not for the first time, for Harry to watch over his cocky prat of a godson.

Draco turned, hoping to see a hint of black hair in the crowd of black robes, and saw James on his knees, face serious and eyes steady as he stared into the grey eyes of Scorpius.

"But what if I get put into Hufflepuff or something? I don't want to be alone. I want to be in Gryffindor, like Mum," the small boy was saying. Draco wrinkled his nose at the thought of his son in Hufflepuff even as his heart softened. Scorpius had the Malfoy eyes and wore no glasses, but he had Harry's kindness and good heart. He was desperate to find any resemblance between himself and the parent he could barely remember.

"Mum was in Gryffindor, yeah, but Father was in Slytherin, and Aunt Luna was in Ravenclaw. It doesn't matter what house you're in; we will love you no matter what. Besides, Mum told me once that he was almost put in Slytherin. The sorting hat lets you pick."

Scorpius' eyes became large and his older brother nodded solemnly before pulling him into a hug and rustling his hair.

"Give Father a hug goodbye and grab us a compartment; I'll be there in a sec."

The small boy flung himself at Draco who held him tightly, the perfect mix of himself and Harry with the purest soul one could imagine, and watched as he ran into the Hogwarts Express to fulfil his brother's orders.

James stood slowly and brushed soot off his robes before he turned his emerald gaze on Draco. He could have been Harry's clone, really; same peach skin, same hair, same eyes, same goofy glasses. Draco sometimes found himself looking for the scar, for the indication that this boy was different from the man he had lost.

"I know, you know. Who my real father was." Draco opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when the boy pointedly fingered the snake on his school crest.

"How?"

"Mum left me a diary amongst his old school things. He knew eventually I'd look there."

"Harry would have never done that."

Harry wouldn't have risked exposure of James' parentage for the sake of closure.

James smiled as if understanding; a lopsided smile, more left than right, exactly like Harry.

"It was in Parseltongue; he figured there was a high chance I could speak it, what with my parents being who they were."

Draco looked back at the train, seeing the grey eyes of his son watching them with impatience. James smiled again.

"He is so going to be in Hufflepuff."

Draco ignored that.

"What you said to him; it was just what I imagine Harry would have said had he been here."

James's smile turned bittersweet, like Harry's when someone told him he had his mother's eyes.

"I take after my mum I guess." The words were heavy with meaning and James's eyes, Harry's eyes, never left the man's face.

Draco said nothing as Harry's son, his son, entered the train, and watched as he ruffled the hair of his younger brother once more, watched as the train began to spew steam and until it was out of sight.

He could forgive James for being the son of Voldemort.

But he couldn't forgive him for Harry's death.

Draco raised his wand to his temple and spoke in a rough whisper.

"Obliviate."


End file.
